Storm and Stone
by Tear-Storming Sea
Summary: Ashley has to take someone to the prom or she'll never survive Kyla's wrath. Might as well be Spencer. What more could you ask for?
1. The Way

**Me: Should I be starting another story?**

**Myself: Does it take two to tango?**

**Me: Yes.**

**I: Geico lies!**

**Myself: Exactly.**

**Me: So... no?**

**Myself: Yep.**

**Me: Huh?**

**I: The gecko doth utter falsehoods!**

**Me: What? Oh, what the heck, on with the story!**

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><p><span>1. The Way<span>

It's all about the thrill. Life is nothing without the rush. Who wants to spend the rest of their lives going to work every day at 9 o'clock sharp, coming home at five, watching some TV and then going to bed? School is bad enough. Imagine the rest of your life tied down to some office job; your only dream, the weekends. No, people should always be searching for the next big adventure.

This is the Ashley Davies philosophy, and this is why she is currently jumping out of a helicopter with her terrified twin (but _definitely_ not identical) sister Kyla on a sunny Sunday afternoon in late May.

It's the feeling of the wind tangling her hair and buffeting her face that makes Ashley laugh (as best as one can while free-falling through the air) as her sister screams. Nothing to hold her back, no ropes to tie her down, and Ashley doesn't want to open her parachute right now and ruin the moment. Beside her, Kyla's parachute billows out like a neon yellow mushroom. Once the parachute comes out, it's just a lazy ride back down to Earth. The exhilaration is lost with the speed; so Ashley just keeps falling, the wind in her ears drowning out Kyla's screams for her to "open up your damn parachute before you crack your stupid head open".

Just when Kyla is about to lose hope, a bright multi-colored parachute opens up beneath her, and Kyla prays that it is not too late. Ashley needs to be alive for Kyla to kill her, after all.

Ashley hits the ground harder than usual and staggers, the ache spreading up her knee. Cursing, she hobbles out of the landing area before Kyla can land on her. By the time her sister finally gets down the pain has dissipated, and Ashley is kicking at rocks impatiently.

Kyla's anger, on the other hand, is roaring with righteous rage. In the time it took for her to land at last, she has been muttering under breath and stoking the fire. The first thing she does upon landing is to swat Ashley upside the head.

"Ow!"

"You idiot!" Kyla shrieks. "Did your brain take a vacation or something up there?"

"What the hell, Kyla? I just wanted to enjoy the feeling a little more."

"The feeling of falling at ten-thousand miles an hour through the air?" Kyla snorts, "I hope you like the feeling of turning into a pancake too."

"It was not 10,000 miles, Kyla. It was like... 100" Ashley retorts without thinking.

"I'm sure that will matter a lot to your skull."

Changing strategies, Ashley makes her voice more soothing. "It's alright. I'm still alive," but Ashley can't keep her voice that soft for long, "so calm down, will you?"

"Calm down! Do you have a death wish, Ashley?" cries a spectacularly un-soothed Kyla. "What are you going to do next? Ride your bike over the Grand Canyon?"

"No," Ashley replies automatically. Then, she registers what Kyla just said. "Wait, they let you do that?" Her eyes drift off as she begins to formulate plans to ride her motorcycle over the Grand Canyon.

"Really?" Kyla shouts in exasperation, but Ashley's not listening. If there is one trait the two sisters share, it's their propensity for muttering like a lunatic when deep in thought.

Well, at least now Kyla knows what her New Year's Resolution should have been: keep your mouth shut. As the two mutter their way back to the car and, eventually, their "small" LA mansion, Ashley Davies' mind is, as always, searching for the next big adventure.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, another search distracts Ashley from her fervent planning. The senior prom is in two weeks, and Ashley needs a date. She actually <em>needs<em> a date.

"Why exactly do I need a date to prom?" she asks Kyla again.

"I would never lie it down if you showed up alone. Can you imagine what it would to my reputation?"

Ashley, honestly, can't.

Sometimes she worries that her little sister is too much like their mother —all sly smiles and social climbing— except sweeter. Whenever she suggests it though, she gets slapped with how like their father she is —all footloose laughs and stupid stunts— except worse.

Every time Ashley tries to worm her way out of going to prom, Kyla pulls out all the "fun" Ashley has dragged her into over the years, mostly against her will, and guilt trips Ashley into promising she'll go to prom with a date (even more evidence of Kyla's disturbing parallels to their mother, as far as Ashley is concerned.)

Finding a date is no easy task though. Over the years, Ashley Davies has gone through most of the datable female population in the area. Flirting with the line of promiscuity, as she flirts with all borders, Ashley drops them quickly, deciding most of them are too dull for her taste.

Ashley Davies is on the prowl. She's looking for someone who can keep up with her electrifying exploits. She's looking for someone won't gape when she jumps out a helicopter or give her a hard time for waiting too long before opening her parachute. Someone who can take a jump over the Grand Canyon in stride. Someone who isn't afraid of danger but revels in it the way Ashley does.

Because there is so little danger left in the world now, or so it seems to Ashley anyways. Even supposedly dangerous activities are filled to the brim with safety equipment, and Ashley hates being buckled in. Danger would be an endangered species if it were alive. It's been stamped out of civilized life as much as possible. Ashley's convinced that, one day, danger will be extinct, and she fears that day more than death because Ashley Davies knows that money, success, or fame has never made anybody happy (she drank the lesson in with her formula milk), drugs leave you a husk, and sex becomes too complicated. All that's left to her now is the burst of adrenaline that she gets when she dips her foot in death and gets away.

That scares people. It makes them look at her like she's sprouted antennae. She would be lying if she said that it didn't hurt a little. But, then, no one's ever bothered to ask her about that before.

Now, out of girls and time, Ashley is getting desperate enough to consider going with a guy (although she is rapidly purged of that idea). Unless she finds someone soon, however, Kyla will doubtless set her up with a blind date— almost certain disaster. Which is why, two weeks from prom and with a hawk-eyed Kyla watching her every step, Ashley marches up to the first girl she sees (she's thinks the girl is gay but has always considered her to uptight to be a worthwhile prospect) and slaps a piece of paper on the desk in front of her.

The startled girl stares up her with blue eyes, and Ashley nearly loses her nerve. This is _the_ Ashley Davies who jumps out of helicopters though, and she forces words out of her mouth.

"You're going to the prom with me. Here's my number. Call me." Abruptly, Ashley leaves.

The blond stares after her.

* * *

><p>It's all about the toil. Life is nothing without the struggle. Who gets anywhere without work? People think work is boring, but work takes you places. If you can find good meaningful work, who says you can't be happy? Imagine not having to do anything for a decade. Your drive would evaporate like mist. No, people should find something they care about, and work for it. Not towards it, but for it.<p>

This is the Spencer Carlin philosophy, and it's why she's making a list of exactly what she needs to do before the school year and the summer ends when she should be listening to what the priest is saying about Jesus' disciples.

It's feeling of accomplishment that gets Spencer up each day. To look back and see what you've accomplished is worth every drop of sweat. Not that she doesn't ever complain, but when everyone else goes home Spencer Carlin is there to stick it out. With little sympathy for freebooters, she's never not seen something through to the end— unless you count that book that was too horrible to finish in fifth grade.

Soon, Spencer Carlin will finish twelfth grade, and apart for a few hitches (deaths in the family, finding out she's gay) almost everything has gone according to plan. At least the general plan anyways, which is to get good grades, stay out of trouble, get into a decent college, medical school, and find a steady job.

Of course, not everything goes to plan. But over the years, Spencer Carlin has learned that, usually, it doesn't take much to get back on track. Some people will whine and lie where they've fallen, some people go the easier way, but Spencer Carlin pushes on.

Spencer Carlin would push on until her heart gave out—what else is there to do?

From beside her on the pew, her mother hisses at her. "What are you doing, Spencer?"

"Making a list," she replies, jotting down a note to buy poster board for her final project in science.

"Just relax a little, honey." Paula Carlin wraps an arm around her daughter and, in doing so, restricts Spencer's ability to scribble furiously.

"It's important, Mom. I don't want to forget anything."

"You won't forget anything."

Spencer sighs, knowing that it's probably true. The things she'd like to forget are seared onto the squishy wrinkles of her brain forever. Part of that's a good thing, she'll never forget the faces and the smiles. But she'll also never forget the wild eyes and weary exhaustion. The one o'clock screams that pierce the sky and shatter the stars.

Spencer won't forget the lessons she's learned. Today, she knows how to keep her life straight. She knows what truly matters. Get the most out of life. Don't do things for the sake of doing them. Work hard and take something out of it.

* * *

><p>So before the school bell even rings, Spencer is hard at work. She's taking notes on the oh—you know— about one thousand years of history her careless school district decided to skip over.<p>

"Why are you so— this isn't even on the final," her friend Chelsea sputters, walking over to the table where Spencer's got two chapters worth of notes and reading already done.

"It's in the book, isn't it? He's going to collect these books at the end of the year, and that'll be one thousand years of history we don't even look at!"

"Isn't that the best part?" Chelsea suggests, half-joking.

Spencer stares back at her.

"Anyways, my workaholic-friend, you need to settle down and enjoy life a little. What happened to Sheila? At least you were a little looser around her." Chelsea finds a chair and leans back on it.

Spencer's reply is quick and emotionless. "We didn't have enough in common. She wanted to just party every night."

"Really? Because, compared to everyone but you, Sheila was the greatest overachiever in the history of mankind."

"Of course she was. When did a man ever achieve anything?" Chelsea snorts a little and watches her friend take notes on the history of Nepal. The two settle into a light conversation as they wait for the warning bell to ring.

Spencer Carlin is single and searching. She's looking for someone who can stay the distance. Someone who can take the bad with the good and keep going. Someone who doesn't crumple at the first sign of difficulties. Someone who doesn't give excuses and takes the responsibility. Someone who never says, life's not fair.

Because everyone, to Spencer it seems, is always looking for the easy way out. They always forget the easy way leads to ruin. Nobody cares about honest work anymore. people pay others to write college essays for them. Surgeons graduate even though they didn't do the work. They degrade the entire country by cheating their way through life, and they don't even care. The president isn't the smartest guy with the most experience. He's the guy who had the nice smile, funny jokes, and strong jaw. Sometimes, Spencer feels like the last genuine person in a world of pretty colors.

So she keeps working, reminding herself to stay true, even if she herself is the only one that cares. Even if it means taking notes she'll never need at seven in the morning.

Spencer moves on to Africa pre-European colonization—back when Africa had the most advanced culture in the world. There were universities their that studied astronomy, mathematics, and medicine. Coastal cities flourished with the trade of salt, ivory, gold, and slaves.

Engrossed in her reading, Spencer is completely unprepared for a hand to slam down a tiny piece of paper onto the table in front of her.

A girl stands there. Her hair is artfully messy and her eyes, dusky brown. Spencer is sure she's heard of this girl and seen her in the hallways. (Most of what she heard implies that the girl is almost insane: leaping off buildings and whatnot). But here is this crazy, wild girl standing in front of her who lips her lips before spluttering: "You're going to the prom with me. Here's my number. Call me."

Behind her, Chelsea throws her head back and laughs.

* * *

><p><strong>That was probably a little different. I sound more... something when I write in third person.<strong>


	2. Is That A Dare?

**I was so close to finishing this chapter when I accidentally closed Microsoft without saving it. Not only did I finish this chapter today, I had to re-write two-thirds of it. **

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><p><span>2. Is That A Dare?<span>

"Put it on speaker," Chelsea bleats over her friends shoulder. The two of them are lying on Spencer's very blue bedcovers which match the walls of Spencer's very blue room. Spencer despises the color; she likes to think of it as hospital scrub blue.

"Why are you even here?" Spencer growls back irritably.

She rolls her eyes before replying. "To make sure you don't back out of this. Now, put it on speaker."

"Stay quiet." Spencer snaps. She focuses on the slip of paper with 7-digits on it, and, taking a deep breath, dials the number.

She presses speakerphone too.

"Hello?" says the voice on the other side, rough and scratchy through the connection.

"Hi." Spencer picks at the lint on her comforter, wondering what her own voice sounds like on the other end.

"Uh, who is this?" The voice asks sounding very confused. Chelsea quivers with silent giggles. Spencer turns to glare at her.

"It's Spencer Carlin."

"Who?" Spencer rolls her eyes.

"Spencer Carlin. You know, the girl you randomly walked up to yesterday, informed her that she was going to prom with you, and told you to call her."

"Oh."

By now, Chelsea is positively hysterical. Great heaving breaths blow out from her lungs, and she gasps uncontrollably. Even on the other side of the call the girl can hear it. "Is everything all right over there?" she asks nervously.

"Yeah, it's just my stupid friend who I'm about to kick out of my house if she doesn't get ahold of herself," Spencer answers rather loudly. For starters, she kicks Chelsea off the bed. With a thump, Chelsea lands on the hardwood floor.

"Okay, then," the girl says with air of someone who doesn't really understand what's going on but is just going to play along with it. Spencer is about to say something else when a no longer laughing Chelsea whacks her with a pillow.

"Chelsea!" Spencer shrieks.

"What?" Two voices ring out simultaneously, one sounding conspicuously more alarmed than the other.

"Just stay on the phone for a second," Spencer mutters to the girl. Whirling on Chelsea, she drops the phone on her bed and yells, "What the heck did you do that for?"

"You pushed me off the bed!" Chelsea accuses.

"You were making ridiculous noises!"

"That doesn't give you the right to shove me off the bed!"

"That doesn't give you the right to hit me with a pillow!" The minute the words leave Spencer's mouth she knows she's going to regret it. Immediately, Chelsea launches into a full-blown rant about exactly why does have the right to hit Spencer with as many pillows as she wants after all these years of friendship, and having to put up with moody Spencer is not fun at all, and it was impossible not laugh at the conversation they were having, and do you how hard the floor is?

Spencer slaps a hand to her forehead and drags it down her face. If she doesn't stop the torrent now, all three of them are going to be stuck here for several hours. "Alright!" she bellows. "I'm sorry. I get it. Can you just stay there and shut up?"

Chelsea considers it. "Possibly."

With a sigh, Spencer collapses on the bed and asks, "Are you still there?"

"Amazingly, yes." The girl now sounds amused and a lot more confident. Spencer hopes a squirrel attacks the girl next time she walks outside. "Anyways, I'll pick you up around seven on prom night, okay?"

"Wait, you want me to go to prom with you without ever getting to know you?" Spencer's eyes narrow.

"Well, yeah..." the girl says

"I am not going to prom with someone I haven't even been on a date with, much less someone I haven't even actually met."

"A date?" the girl repeats apprehensively.

"Well more than one," Spencer clarifies. "A few dates so I can get to know you."

"A few dates?" the girl stutters.

"Yep."

"I'll, um, figure something out."

"Wait what's your—" the line clicks off, "—name?" Spencer stares at the phone, trying to decide whether or not to call her back.

"That went well," Chelsea remarks brightly. Spencer ardently hopes a squirrel attacks Chelsea too.

* * *

><p>"Do you realize what you've dragged me into?" Ashley bursts into her sister's room, yelling at the top of her lungs. The mirror quivers as she slams the door shut behind her. On the other side of the room, fluffy curtains rustle anxiously.<p>

Having long since acclimatized to her sister's dramatics, Kyla is only mildly startled by the sudden intrusion. She reaches for another bottle of nail polish from where she is sitting on the bed before asking, "What?"

"She wants to go on _dates_! Multiple dates! This was supposed to be a one-time thing. I'm not going out with her!" It doesn't take much to get Ashley storming through the thick carpet of Kyla's room, throwing her hands wildly around her. Her sister pointedly ignores the display. "I don't want to go to prom with her."

"Well, you need to go with somebody," says Kyla placidly once she works out what Ashley is ranting about. She puts down the bottle and brush, wishing that her nails weren't wet so she could fold her arms sternly across her chest. Instead she settles for sounding like her first grade teacher Mrs. Askenazi. "I'm not letting you back out of this now.

"She's crazy. She's one of those people who read math textbooks for fun!"

"I can assure you that nobody reads math textbooks for fun, Ashley," Kyla interrupts, still unruffled.

"Nobody I know reads _The Complete Writings of John Winthrop_ for fun either!" Ashley's voice is shrill with fervor.

"How do you know she was reading that?" The reasonable tone remains firmly in place.

"I saw it on her table."

"How do you know that she was reading it for fun?"

"Because she's just the kind of person who would do that!"

"So you _do_ know someone who reads _The Complete Writings of John Winthrop_ for fun then."

In the intervening silence, Ashley marvels that there can be anything in the world as irritating as Kyla's logic. Strategically, she entirely disregards their last exchange. "What am I supposed to do for a date with her?"

"Why don't you take her out to a nice restaurant?" her sister suggests.

"That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard!" Ashley proclaims.

Not even Kyla's unfaltering patience can survive any longer against her twin's absurdities. "How hard is it to drive her out to a restaurant and eat dinner with her?" she demands.

"I don't have to do any of this. I don't want to do any of this. Why am I doing any of this?" Kyla rises and begins to splutter angrily, her face becoming redder by the second, but Ashley merely bulldozes right over her. "Why the hell do I care about your goddamn reputa—"

"Because," Kyla shouts, arms wind-milling around, splattering nail polish everywhere probably. Not that she cares at this point. "Because we're family, Ash! Why the hell do I jump off goddamn airplanes with you? Because I care about you're safety and I'm trying—"

"Okay, first of all, it's a freaking helicopter. And at least sky-diving is fun. Going on a date with that girl is going to be—"

"Do you really not care about me that much? You can't possibly know for sure that you're going to have such a terrible time, but you won't bother to find out. You won't even risk a bad date for me? Doesn't my happiness mean anything to you?"

After that, Ashley realizes she's won't be winning this argument. She cares about her sister too much. She loves her sister so much that she'll even go on a date with Spencer Carlin. Probably. Well, "a few dates" in reality. "A few" is like— three, right? Ashley ponders whether or not she can whittle this down to two. It's all for her sister's sake though.

But maybe, just maybe, that phrase _you won't even risk_...

_Risk_. Risk?

Is there anything Ashley Davies wouldn't risk?

And an unsuspecting Spencer Carlin is about to find out that the Ashley Davies definition of "nice restaurant" does not involve candlelit dinners and fine wine.

* * *

><p><strong>It kind of sounds like one of those murder shows right before the commercial break, doesn't it? Luckily, Ashley is not a homicidal maniac.<strong>

**I bet you'll never guess where they're going for their date.**


	3. Candlelit Dinners

**Bad news: I'll be gone for three weeks. Good news: I'm starting to get some ideas for Runt of the Litter again.**

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><p><span>3. Candlelit Dinners<span>

"You're so lucky you have me," are the first words that leave Chelsea's mouth as she climbs into Spencer's car.

"I can't imagine why I would ever think that," is the dry reply.

"You're also lucky that you're driving. Otherwise, I'd hit you."

Tossing on an air of careless arrogance, Spencer shrugs. "What can I say? I'm a blessed child."

"Whatever. I'm definitely not telling you what your mystery date's name is," Chelsea taunts.

Spencer's head whips around. "What is it?" she nearly shouts.

All last night she was been panicking over the the girl's name. She must have talked herself in and out of calling again half a dozen times. (In her nightmare, she had to ask the girl for her name while they were on the date, at which point the FBI stormed in and started shooting.) Spencer struggles to conceive of the awkwardness that will ensue if she cannot find out the girl's name before the date. It would be like not having given a thought to your new baby's name when the nurse asks you, "And what would you like to name your baby?" Of course, your next move is to give your newborn baby girl a boy's name.

Though Spencer does take heart in the fact that a lot of websites list "Spencer" as androgynous.

But still.

"I'm not telling you unless you admit that I'm smarter than you are for thinking to look in last year's yearbook." Chelsea's voice reminds Spencer of a three-year old chanting "nyah, nyah-nyah, nyah, nyah": loud, obnoxious, and immature. Unfortunately, she still has no defense against that last statement because Chelsea is right. About the not thinking to look in the yearbook part. Sulkily, Spencer focuses her attention on the road while considering her response.

Then, it dawns on her. A triumphant smirk sneaks onto Spencer's face.

"Now that you've told me how you did it, you realize that I can just find out when I go home without your help, right?"

The smug grin drops from her friend's face faster than a dead fly from a window. "I hate you."

"Not surprising." Silence pervades the car for several moments.

Finally, Chelsea relents. "Her name is Ashley Davies."

"Ashley Davies," Spencer echoes, letting the name escape from her lips. For an instant, she simply appreciates how the first "A" demands your full attention and how the second rolls right in after you think that the storm has passed. "You know, Ashley used to be a boy's name."

"Aw, you two have so much in common already," Chelsea gushes.

In the halls, Spencer sees Ashley a few times. Neither of them acknowledges the other, as if they don't know each other at all. Spencer, for one, is wary of Ashley's motives. It's pretty obvious that the girl isn't that interested. She just needed a date and Spencer happened to be conveniently placed in front of her. Not very encouraging for a long and healthy relationship.

Despite knowing better than to get in too deep, Spencer is being pulled in anyways. Her parents have been bugging her about her social life and even Chelsea seems to think she needs to get out more.

Spencer Carlin doesn't care. No matter what Spencer will pull through. She doesn't need anybody else. And she's goddamn sick of everyone saying that she does!

Spencer doesn't rely on other people. Others, whether they mean to or not, let you down. They lie, they attack, and they die. The only person you can rely on in this world is yourself because you are the only person you can control with any degree of certainty. So Spencer keeps tight hold of the reins. She holds on as tightly as anyone can.

But just because she's gripping at the reins till her hands go white, Spencer isn't immune. And like Phaeton driving his father's sun chariot across the sky, Spencer can crash in a blaze of agony, plunging her world in flames.

Thus, it's with a healthy degree of caution that Spencer answers her phone after school.

"Hello?" Spencer is sitting on her bed once again but this time she's alone (thank god) with her left wrapped around her knees and blond hair sweeping over her skin.

"Hey, it's Ashley," the voice informs her and Spencer makes a note to add the girl to her contacts. "I can pick you up Friday around five for our date," Ashley offers.

Part of Spencer is surprised that Ashley is going through with her date. Another part of her trembles with excitement—and is promptly squashed. Still, maybe Ashley is more reliable than Spencer expected.

"That's fine," is the extent of what she's willing to express though.

"Good," Ashley states. "Dress casually. Bye."

It is 4:30, and Ashley is ready to leave. She can't back out now, even if she wanted to. (She thinks she might have heard Kyla muttering something about buying a gun earlier). Ashley no longer wants to back out though. This is going to be a good night.

Ashley can't wait for the look on Spencer Carlin's face.

Kyla can't blame Ashley if Spencer breaks up with her and not the other way around right?

One more touch of eyeliner later and Ashley is out the door. Black jeans, red shirt, and bright smirk firmly in place, Ashley struts to her convertible, looking downright devilish. Every inch of her small frame simmers with explosive intensity.

Watching from her bedroom window, Kyla hopes that, whoever this Spencer Carlin girl is, she makes it through the night.

When Ashley's car pulls up beside the Carlin residence, she pulls out her cell phone. Scrolling down the list of her contacts, she panics when she can't find the girl's number. On her third time through the contact list she finally sees a call from "7encer 1rlqrn" flash on the screen.

"Is that you loitering in front of my house?" 7encer asks.

"With intent," Ashley adds cockily while reminding herself to be more careful when entering new contacts.

"Next time call so I know for sure whether you're some random stalker," instructs Spencer without amusement.

"I could still be some stalker," Ashley points out cheerfully.

"But you're not as random."

"Random, being an adjective to describe completely unpredictable and unrelated things, can hardly be measured, so it would be wrong—"

"If you had a superhero name, it would be _Non Sequitur_: opens her mouth and confirms she's an idiot," Spencer announces coolly.

The stony severity of Spencer's tone slams into Ashley like a slap in the face. Her voice decidedly shriller, she retorts, "Yeah? Well yours would be _Stick Up_—"

"Geez, I didn't know you were so sensitive." Concern leaks into Spencer's words. "I have to deal with Chelsea a lot, and I end up getting kind of used to snapping at people."

Ashley steadies herself and takes the half-apology. "Are you going to get into the car or what?"

"Fine." The front door of the Carlin home swings open, and Spencer steps out in faded blue jeans and a deep purple shirt. "Alright, Mom!" she shouts back at her house irritably.

"I feel like I could cut your purple with a knife," Ashley remarks, staring at her shirt..

"Are you trying to remind me of hell on Earth today?" Spencer asks sweetly, referring to Ashley's red and black attire.

Ashley considers their exchange. Rules of dating: Step 1. Tell the girl she's beautiful.

Mission...

—accomplished.

Throwing a suspicious glance at her suddenly snickering companion, Spencer leans back against her seat. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," Ashley taunts with a wide grin on her face. If this were a movie, Spencer would pout and beg or threaten Ashley playfully. Ashley would tease and stop just short of actually telling her.

Instead, Spencer closes her eyes and lets her blond hair ripple in the wind. "Fantastic. Wake me up when we arrive at the junkyard."

Ashley mutters something along the lines of, "Just you wait and see."

They drive through the jam-packed streets of LA, and _no, _they are not going to a junkyard. Ashley parks her car along the side of a street. Before Spencer can even think about getting out, Ashley dashes over and yanks the car door open. She practically drags Spencer into the mostly empty cafe, finding booth far away from the only other people in the place.

"Hey, Ash! It's good to see you," A bearded man in an apron booms as he makes his way over to their booth. He throws his arms open welcomingly, and his huge belly jiggles at the motion. "Been a while since you stopped by to see little old me."

"Hey, Rick. This is Spencer. It's her first time here." Ashley looks pointedly at him.

"Really, Ash? You need to tell people _before_ they get in here. At least prepare them a little." Rick looks genuinely concerned, but Ashley only flashes a wild grin.

"But it's so much more fun this way," Ashley carps.

"_What_ is so much more fun this way?" Spencer demands warily.

"I'll go get some menus," Rick sighs. His short ponytail swings as he shakes his head and walks away resignedly.

Spencer turns her full guarded displeasure on Ashley. "Is there something I should know?" she grates out. Her blue eyes are cold to the pit with warning. Ashley takes a deep breath, fortifying herself against their icy intensity.

"Nothing at all," Ashley answers with a reassuring smile. Nothing that's really going to hurt her, anyways. Spencer is not reassured at all. Smile faltering, Ashley mutters under her breath, "Why is it so hard to soothe people?"

"Here are your menus," Rick says, glancing apologetically at Spencer. Then, he evacuates the area.

Ashley watches the other girl carefully opens her menu. The menu drops from her hands. "This is a joke right?"

"I've never been more serious," Ashley replies flippantly, her face-shattering grin completely at odds with her words. "So, Spencer," she continues with the beginning of a worldly Italian accent creeping into her voice. "What will you be having today? Personally, I like to start off with the Butter-Fried Grasshoppers, or maybe the Herb-Grub Garden Salad. The Fried Rice-A-Wormy is good for a main course, unless you want to try the Ant Brood Tacos. If you're feeling really brave you could try the Fried Scorpion. My suggestion for desert is the Vanilla Chirp, but you can also get chocolate chip cookies with either mealworms or crickets in them."

Spencer opens and closes her mouth. Barely breaking, Ashley plows on about the comparative benefits of bee larvae versus palm weevil larvae.

"Are you ladies ready to order?" Rick asks tentatively.

"Yeah," Spencer interrupts her date's diatribe. "I'll have a glass of water and a roll of duct tape."

"A roll of duct tape?" he echoes.

"Yep. I need something to tape her mouth shut. Her Italian accent is horrible. Didn't anyone ever tell her that the stress always falls on the first syllable in two syllable words?"

Ashley splutters to a stop. "Hey!"

"Yes? I think its your turn to order, dear," Spencer scoffs.


	4. How to Eat Fried Cucumbers

**Can you believe I actually updated this? This chapter went through a lot of revision, but probably needs more editing. **

**But, hey, it's over 3,000 words long.**

**I apologize beforehand to anyone who really likes toffee flavored ice cream. I really hate it. It's even worse than Butter Pecan.**

**I hate the freaking formatting thing by the way. It won't even let me use the greater than symbol.**

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><p><span>4. How To Eat Fried Cucumbers<span>

As their dinner progresses, Spencer is quickly being confronted by a devastating choice: her stomach or her dignity. Ashley keeps smirking at her infuriatingly over the table and asking, "So, are you going to eat the rest of your crickets?"

Spencer wants to punch her in the face. Unlike _some_ people, however, Spencer isn't ruled by whimsical (and somewhat volatile) impulses.

Pasting a smile that has "I hope you fall off a cliff" written all over it on her face, she pushes her plate over to Ashley's side of the table, "You can have the rest if you want, _dear._" Ashley's self-assurance seems to falter for a second.

At least one good thing has come out of this meal. To Spencer's delight, she has discovered Ashley's weakness. Every time she calls the girl "dear", Ashley winces. Oh, it's a very slight wince, but Spencer picks up on it. Too proper for badass Davies, is it?

Honestly, though, Spencer's been watching Ashley's every move like a hawk. Each twitch of the lips and fidgeting of the fingers is carefully registered. Obviously, it's working to Spencer's advantage. She resolves to call Ashley "dear" as often as possible.

Despite all her resolve, Spencer can't help squirming as Ashley takes a big, crunchy bite from an anonymous insect. Although she shuts off her imagination, all she can think of is the exoskeleton splintering in Ashley's mouth like thin flakes of plastic. Ugh, is she sitting with someone who's totally insane? What kind of person willingly subjects themselves to this kind of torture?

The memory hits her then, so bright it nearly blinds her: She's in fifth grade, and Glen's in sixth, and he's just finished _How__To__Eat__Fried__Worms_, and now, he's taunting Spencer, daring her to eat the worm that he's dangling in front of her face; Spencer's always hated worms because her grandmother used to point them out on the sidewalk and tell Spencer to be very careful not to step on them, (Spencer still hates the smell of rain because she still thinks it's the smell of worms) although Spencer's pretty sure she did end up eating that worm. Funny thing is Spencer can't recall for a fleeting second what that worm tasted like; just the pavement, Glen's hair in the sun and his raucous voice screaming, "Mom! Mom, Spencer ate a worm!"

"So, Spencer?" Ashley is peering at Spencer over her Fried Rice-A-Wormy, looking... concerned.

"Yeah?"

"Uh, nothing," Ashley mutters. "You just seemed kind of out of it."

Spencer doesn't reply to that. The two just sit there until Rick strides back over. "How are you guys doing?"

"Still trying to figure how I ended up with a date that likes to eat bugs," Spencer answers sardonically. "I don't think my father would cook this." _And__he's__been__known__for__being__pretty__experimental._

"Hey," said date interjects, "it's good for the environment. So, it's a bug. So what? They're a healthy source of protein that takes far less resources to produce than meat. Without government subsidies, a hamburger would cost about $25."

"What she said," Rick adds before scampering off to the kitchen. Spencer's voice promised a little too much retribution for his liking.

Compelling as the science might be for entomophagy, Spencer doesn't think she'll be putting any spiders into her mouth tonight. Maybe next time, Ashley.

"So, um, Spencer," Ashley begins, getting a raised eyebrow in return. There was silence until another few hesitant words peeked out. "What's up?"

Eyes narrowing in a combination of suspicion and amusement, Spencer sort of glares at Ashley. _What's__up?_ They're sitting in a restaurant eating bugs on their first date (actually Ashley's the one eating the bugs, Spencer is just steadily getting hungrier) and this... person is asking her "what's up" like they just bumped into each other on the street. Where in the world did that come from? Across the table, it looks like Ashley is thinking the same thing (not to mention wishing that she could turn into one of the worms on her plate). About to respond with her classic "the ceiling" line, Spencer suddenly remembers another one.

"It's a direction."

For a moment, all Spencer gets is a blank stare, but Ashley's forehead crinkles as she tries to figure it out. The realization is followed by a twitching of the lips (_hey,__that__was__kind__of__funny_) and then an abrupt mask of inscrutability which Spencer quickly interprets as _but__you__don't__need__to__know__that_.

"Thanks for the lesson, Captain Obvious." Ashley pretends that it didn't take her a good two minutes to finally say something.

Spencer's tone is even, but not cool, "Glad to be of service, dear."

Deciding to try another conversation starter (and ignore the not-so-subtle jab), Ashley asks, "So, what's your family like?"

"Do you always say 'so' before starting a sentence?" Really, the girl is probably addicted to the word.

"Yes, are you always this evasive?"

"Only when I don't care to share." Most people would be pretty ticked with Spencer right now, and she knows it. In their heads, they'd be secretly calling her that "b" word that rhymes with witch. Spencer doesn't care. People should just learn to mind their own freaking business.

"Well, _my_ dad's a rock star, my mom's a socialite who has no talents beyond stroking egos (among other things), and my twin sister is annoying and way too good at guilt-tripping."

"That's great. I hope you don't think that by telling me about your family, I'm going to confess my life story to you." Seriously, does Spencer look like the type to just spill her guts to the first person who asks?

"I'm just trying to make conversation," Ashley snaps defensively. "The only reason we're here is because my crazy sister is making me take someone to prom to save her reputation, okay? It's no big deal."

Spencer is silent.

Well... good then. Ashley has no reason to pry into Spencer's life if that's the case. But what a malicious thing to do. _I__didn't__even__want__to__go__out__with__you,__I__just__had__to__make__other__people__happy._Spencer will admit that it hurts. It should hurt, after all, knowing that someone doesn't want to be sitting here with you. Spencer kind of wants to kill Ashley, but, at the same time, she knows the feeling of being pressured into a date. Would she be here at all if Chelsea hadn't been so insistent on it?

"Do you want to leave now?" Ashley's voice is soft now, a complete contrast to its earlier harshness.

"Yeah." Spencer hates the way her voice sounds: fragile, the helpless heroine, full of clichéd disappointment. The worst part is she already knew Ashley wasn't interested in a serious relationship. It was pretty clear from the start. She doesn't want Ashley's pity. She doesn't want anything from Ashley.

Nothing at all.

* * *

><p>Earlier, Ashley felt pretty smooth. The date was going her way: Spencer was zoned out when she made that impulsive and stupid confession, she freaked Spencer out with the whole insect thing, it was fun, and Spencer took it well. Part of Ashley was expecting hysterics and screeching, but Spencer is sitting there, cool as a cucumber (although comparing Spencer to a pickle should be a crime against humanity.) Or, at least she was sitting there cool as a cucumber until Ashley had to go and be nosy and open her big mouth and screw everything up. So now, Spencer is being all quiet and broody. Ashley just hopes for the night to end.<p>

They're in the car now, and Ashley _feels_ Spencer's stomach growling which makes her squirm a little with guilt. Neither of them acknowledge the sound. Ashley desperately wants to turn on the radio to fill up the silence, but she's too tense and nervous to do anything but grip the wheel and drive.

Why does she do this to herself? Can't she ever keep her mouth shut? This is all Kyla's fault. Kyla and her stupid reputation, and her stupid sad eyes, and her stupid overwrought voice. If it weren't for Kyla, Spencer wouldn't be here, in the seat next to her, stewing in that hurt silence. When she gets home, she'll tell that friend of hers what a terrible date this was, crying and cursing Ashley's name. Ashley can't let that happen. Ashley is going to fix this.

They are turning onto Spencer's street when Ashley makes a U-turn that may or may not be illegal. "What the heck are you doing?" Spencer's voice is aggravated and surprised and her blue eyes widen before tapering with misgiving.

"The date's not over yet."

"If you take me to another—"

Ashley nearly explodes with frustration. People always assume the worst of her—her mother, Kyla, even her father seems to expect her to get into trouble. "I'm _not_ taking you to another bug place, okay?"

"I'm sorry—" BEEP. Spencer's hands fly to Ashley's seat, gripping the sides tightly. "Why did you just do that?"

A flabbergasted Ashley just nearly crashed her car into a passing van, eliciting a flurry of horns and profanity. "I wasn't expecting that," she explains weakly.

"Expecting what?" Spencer demands, slightly panicked. "Other cars on the road in the middle of Los Angeles?" Her face is a little flushed. Reaching over, Ashley pushes a few flustered locks of hair out of her eyes.

"Never mind." Silence pervades the convertible.

Offhandedly, Spencer comments, "Your driving is terrible."

"It is not," Ashley contradicts.

"You're not supposed to cut people off like that."

"It's more fun this way," Ashley pouts, weaving through traffic.

Spencer grips the door handle as Ashley bursts through to an empty stretch of road and pours on the speed. "Are you sure you didn't learn how to drive in China?"

"Don't be mean to the Chinese. The world record for the best parallel parker was set by a Chinese guy."

"That's my point. Have you ever been to China? It's amazing anyone survives. They could all be stunt drivers."

"Do stunt drivers exist?" Are they really called "stunt drivers"? Of course there are stunt drivers, but would they be called extreme racers or something? X-treme racers?

Ignoring Ashley's question, Spencer continues, "Maybe you learned how to drive in Turkey."

"For god's sakes, I learned how to drive in LA!" Ashley is irritated and Spencer is grinning.

"How many "sakes" does god have?"

"How should I know?" Honestly, is Ashley supposed to be some sort of religious expert?

Seconds drag by in silence before Spencer breaks in. "You completely missed the point of that."

"No, I didn't," Ashley protests.

Spencer considers her objection void. "Yes, you did."

"So, how did I miss the point?"

"What do you think it was?"

Suddenly, Ashley is a little unsure. "To see if I knew how many "sakes" God had?" she suggests.

Looking at her in disbelief, Spencer says very deliberately, "No, Ashley. It was to point out that you really shouldn't say 'for god's sake' with 'sake' as a plural."

"I'm not British, for god's _sakes-s-s-s_!" Ashley explodes.

Spencer stares at Ashley curiously, her body jerking forward when the car comes to a stop. The two are parked in front of a little white ice cream parlor.

"Where are we?"

"Stay in the car." Spencer appears offended by the brusque answer, and Ashley almost apologizes. Sensitivity has never been her strong suit.

Ashley steps into the store, realizing, at the last moment, that she has no idea what Spencer's favorite flavor is. What would an evil, overly-obsessed-with-perfection weirdo like?

"I'll have death-by-chocolate, and—um—toffee."

The person behind the counter barely notices her as he says, "Thank you and have a wonderful day."

Carrying both cones in her hands, she struggles to open the door to her convertible.

"Do you need help?" Spencer asks. She half-rises out of the car seat.

"Nope, I've got it." Without regard for her blatant idiocy, Ashley attempts to hook her foot into the door handle, hopping backwards on one foot. Pain throbs where her leg met her hips. Her toes slip out from under the handle and Ashley topples.

"Jesus Christ!" Spencer's arm wraps around Ashley's torso. Ashley releases a sigh of relief as she staggers back onto her own feet. Her heart thumps in her chest. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ashley says, collecting herself. "Here." She holds her right hand out for Spencer to take an ice cream cone. Millions of miles away, her head spins. Part of her is still reveling in the adrenaline of her near fall. Part of her can't let go of Spencer's warm arm against her ribs, encircling–

"Agh!" Ashley spits, coughing at the bitter taste of toffee ice cream scouring her mouth.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Spencer's alarm is sharp, but comforting.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Pulled from her distraction, Ashley realizes that she gave Spencer the wrong ice cream. While Spencer is enjoying the mind-numbing chocolatey-ness of death-by chocolate, Ashley is subjected to the tongue-burning decadent rancor of toffee. She'd thought that Spencer, such a stickler for difficulty, would love toffee.

"Mm, I love chocolate." Spencer's tongue makes its way around the ice cream scoop. Ashley opens and closes her mouth a few times before giving up. She goes back to savoring the disgusting taste of her ice cream.

* * *

><p>The light on Spencer's porch manages to be dim and warm all at once. If there is one thing in the entire world that Ashley is willing to be a traditionalist about, it's a kiss goodnight. The night hums with promise, and the anticipation keeps Ashley springing on her toes as they walk up the driveway to Spencer's house. When they reach the front door, Spencer turns around.<p>

"That may have been the weirdest date I've ever been on."

Ashley beams despite the worry that tightens her heart. Is that a good thing or not? "Of course," Ashley confirms. "I'd never settle for less." Spencer shakes her head ruefully. "So, is a kiss on the first date too boorish a thing to request?"

Trying hard not to snicker, Spencer formulates a plan. A smile jerks at her lips. "Usually? No," Spencer teases. Subconsciously, she pushes her hair back, exposing her neck. Ashley steps closer, stretching forward. Then, a moment before they would have met, Spencer's hand suddenly connects with Ashley's chest, just under her sternum, propelling her back. It's another moment before Spencer can offer an explanation without disintegrating in laughter at Ashley's bewildered expression. "I make exceptions for dates with bug-breath."

Fighting down embarrassment, Ashley recovers admirably. "As long as you still come to prom with me," she shrugs. "I guess I'll have to wait until tomorrow for my kiss."

"Don't forget to brush your teeth," Spencer calls out as she glides through the door.

She's barely in for a second when Paula Carlin pounces out from her secret lair in the shadows. "So, how was your date, honey?" With her mother watching stalking her every move, Spencer's really glad that they didn't kiss on the porch. (Well, she kind of wishes that Ashley had been a little pushier because even if she was dating an insect-eating freak at least she was dating a hot insect-eating freak.)

There was something nice though, the way Ashley just let the matter drop without being obnoxious.

"So?" Paula prods.

"It was so-so." Spencer answers pointedly.

* * *

><p>Spencer is at school at 6:50.<p>

Spencer does not understand why her bus is always this early, but she _loves_ it. Chelsea has a doctor's appointment this morning, so, bored and on a whim, Spencer decided to take the bus. Only a few other students were desperate enough to join her at the ridiculously early hour and they are the first to step into the deserted halls. Spencer arrives at class nearly forty minutes early. Her art teacher, a cheerful, aging man, who's taken on a multitude of professions in his life, greets her before rushing out to get more clay. It's just Spencer, a cheap white table, and her books. Another ten minutes will pass before the next bus arrives, and, in the meantime, there an incredible amount of stuff to get done.

First of all, there are those Calculus exercises that will probably be assigned sometime next week that Spencer wants to do ahead of time. Most people think that Spencer is one of those people who loves homework; they are wrong. Spencer loathes it. It's work, however, and work must be done. Better now, while she's trapped here, than later in her precious free time. If there's one thing in the world that makes Spencer happy, it's being ahead of the game.

Several satisfying minutes of pure achievement pass. Spencer is on a roll. At this rate, she'll be finished with the assignment before the bell rings and can look forward to at least one Calculus homework-free day.

"Are you regularly afflicted by an insane yearning to do schoolwork?" Spencer glances up to see Ashley standing in the entrance of the classroom. Her hand keeps scribbling on for a few seconds: _where __k __is __a __constant __and __n is greater than 0_, as she runs her eyes down Ashley's body. They catch at every curve and completely break off at the low cut of Ashley's T-shirt.

Steeling herself, Spencer replies, "Only when I have nothing better to do."

Ashley takes on a commercial announcer's voice. "If so, then I suggest prescription Exalfalophalin. It'll cure your Compulsive Academic Psychiatric Disorder in no time."

"My Compulsive Academic Psychiatric Disorder? Really?" Spencer repeats with mock incredulity.

"Yep. CAPD. Most people don't even know that they're infected," Ashley informs her, nodding enthusiastically. "So please, if you're experiencing irrational and recurring urges to do unnecessary work and think you may be suffering for CAPD, talk with you doctor about whether prescription Exalfalophalin is right for you." She approaches Spencer earnestly.

"Side effects?" Spencer rises to her feet, tilting her head as though she's interested.

"In many circumstances, prescription Exalfalophalin may cause sudden death. If you experience something that feels like you're going to die, contact your doctor immediately."

"I don't think I'm interested," Spencer states. "I don't want to die suddenly."

"But, ma'am, please stop and think about how your CAPD is affecting your relationship with your loved ones," Ashley brings out the puppy eyes, forcing Spencer to resist the urge to hug her.

Abruptly, Spencer's smile turns mischievous and she reaches into her backpack, taking out a tangerine. "Ashley, meet Chuck," she orders sweetly, presenting the orange to the perplexed girl.

"Chuck?" Ashley's forehead wrinkles, the lines practically spelling out: what the hell.

"Yes, Chuck the Orange."

"Chuck the Orange," Ashley echoes, dumbfounded.

"He's named after my sixth grade friend." Ashley says nothing, simply stares at the tangerine, expecting a trick. "Chuck the Rock."

"Your sixth grade friend Chuck the Rock," Ashley recaps, checking Spencer for signs of a particularly virulent but hardly noticeable fever.

"Would you like to know why he's named Chuck?"

"I guess." Ashley squints suspiciously at the citrus and yelps suddenly when the tangerine bops her on the nose. "What the hell?"

"When someone annoys me, I get to chuck Chuck at them," Spencer elucidates with a Cheshire grin.

"I see," Ashley mutters cradling her nose. Spencer extends her hand, placing Chuck the Orange carefully on the table. She lets her fingertips stroke across Ashley's cheek and the tip of her nose. Looking Ashley in the eyes is like being swallowed by russet.

"So, Spencer," Ashley starts, then halts. Spencer feels kind of heady. They're so close to each other right now.

"_So, _Ashley," Spencer counters.

"Am I ever going to be able to open my mouth around you?" complains Ashley.

"If you ever said anything intelligent, you might."

"You're so encouraging."

"Of course. I'd never settle for less," Spencer mimics in Ashley's blasé tone.

Disbelief flashes in Ashley's face before being replaced with more seriousness. "Look, Spencer, I know this is kind of just a marriage of convenience for the prom and whatnot. I'm not really sure how you want to work this out or what we should be doing."

Spencer almost screams in frustration. How hard is it to just _be_ together? Isn't Ashley supposed to be the daredevil? It's not like they have to turn this thing into a life-changing event.

Recklessly, Spencer's hand shoots out and tugs on Ashley's ear, pulling them together until their lips brush. Then, she feels Ashley's lips move until their mouths meet in a union of wet warmth. At the first touch of Ashley's tongue, Spencer nearly crumbles. Her hands grab at Ashley's shirt to keep herself standing, but it seems like Ashley can barely stand either. Hands settle themselves on Spencer's hips pushing down as they try to support their owner. Half-tripping, Ashley directs them against the table and whimpers almost silently. All Spencer wants is to wrap herself around Ashley until there is no room to move, and Ashley seems to crave the same thing because they are both pressing up against each other, as though they are trying to glue together.

When they part, at last, for air, Spencer gasps with as much conviction as she can muster, "_That_ is what we should be doing," as an afterthought, she adds, "dear."

* * *

><p>Ashley thinks that Spencer may be the most beautiful cucumber in the world.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Everyone who is delighted that I updated this should thank Alexisandvikki. They had "plz"170 times (that <em>is<em> the actual number) in their review, and while I strongly suspect copy and paste, I'm still impressed.  
><strong>

**And thank my friend Michael for Chuck the Rock.**

**Also, I've never written a scene where they really kissed before so I'm kind of curious as to your reaction.**


	5. Sore Spots

**Normally, I roll my eyes when famous people do odd things on television. However, when Michelle Obama showed up on whatever show she showed up on (my knowledge of pop culture is astounding, I know) I looked up her dance routine on YouTube. Mostly to see the funny subtitles. Anyways, that's how a station wagon made it's way into this chapter, but of course I'm ignoring the larger issue. **

**I suck, I know. But I am back for today. I'm sorry, but you'll just have to deal with the fact that I suck. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.**

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><p><span>5. Sore Spots<span>

As Ashley walks into Calculus "So how'd the talk go?"

"What talk?" Ashley drags a seat away from the desk next to Kyla and plunks down into it. Her eyes drift back to the classroom entrance longingly. She thinks about Spencer and last night. About impulsively admitting that Spencer looked beautiful during their dinner—half to check if Spencer was listening and half because she couldn't resist. Complimenting a girl like Spencer, well, feels just a little dangerous.

"Your talk with your date who reads John Winthrop," Kyla explains impatiently.

"Spencer?"

"I think so, yeah. What were you so eager to tell her anyways?" Ashley knows better than to take Kyla's interest seriously when her sister barely lift from the text she's firing off.

"Wanted to make sure she was alright with everything," Ashley replies carelessly.

Suddenly, Kyla's all ears. "What? Why wouldn't everything be alright? What last night? I swear, Ashley, if you screwed this up—"

Ashley protests, "I didn't screw anything up! I mean, I took her to Rick's but—"

"You took her to _Rick's_? Did the doctor take a hammer to your head when we were born? What were you thinking, you—".

"People are staring, Kyla," Ashley mutters. Instantaneous silence. Kyla readjusts her posture and lets a pleasant smile slip over her lips even as her eyes threaten to tear Ashley's hair out. As always, Ashley is dumbfounded by the split between Kyla's emotional state and her appearance. Nothing ever makes Kyla lose her cool, except the task of reigning in her impetuous sister of course. Ashley is the one person Kyla cannot get under her control, not fully anyways. That's what makes Ashley fun to have around, but supremely aggravating at the same time. "Chill out, okay?"

Kyla almost shrieks, "I _am_ chilled out!" at the top of her lungs. Almost. She's not queen of this school just because she's Raife Davies daughter, right?

Before Kyla can compose another accusation, Ashley rushes to reassure her. "Spencer's cool with what happened, I promise. She'll still go to prom with me." Sick of the interrogation, Ashley actually opens her math textbook without being told to and attempts to read the page for fun. Spencer could probably do it. Spencer with her blue eyes flicking over _The Complete Writings of John Winth_—.

"How do you know?" Kyla demands.

Ashley nearly screams, "Because we were sucking on each other's lips in the art room!" to the entire school. Nearly. She's not an idiot, whatever anyone says, okay? Impulsive, but not the complete inconsiderate moron that Kyla always thinks she is.

"Just trust me on this one. We're perfectly fine." Somewhere in the back of her head, Ashley can hear Spencer saying, "I'm sorry" so truthful that Ashley nearly crashed her car. Sincere, not sarcastic. Not the way Kyla always says it, long in the first syllable and high in the last syllable, but gentle. Sweet.

* * *

><p>"Well?"<p>

"Well what?" Spencer asks as she climbs into Chelsea's car for a ride home.

"You know 'well what'!" Chelsea's eyes are ravenous.

Spencer begins to list off anything she can think of with the word "well" in it. "Well wishes? Get well soon? Well then? Well whales?"

"Well whales?"

"Yes, as in 'the whales are doing well', or 'there are fifteen whales in the well, Little Jimmy. Go call the police'," Spencer explains.

"Little Jimmy?" Sometimes, Chelsea wonders how Spencer manages to get all those A's when half of what she says is complete nonsense.

"Would you prefer Little Jemmy?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, stop stalling and tell me about your date! You've been avoiding me all weekend." If Chelsea were a dragon, Spencer would be a pile of ashes by now. If Chelsea were God, Spencer would plagued by locusts. If Chelsea were a whale, Spencer would be crushed under 100 tons of blubber.

For a moment there's only the sound of air swishing through lips. After her outburst, Chelsea's breathing a little hard. Finally, Spencer opens her mouth. "Little Jemmy's feelings are hurt."

"Spencer..." Chelsea growls, slamming on the brakes in frustration. Thankfully, they had just rolled up to a red light.

"It was weird, okay?" Spencer's voice loses its teasing edge and becomes sincere—and then irritated.  
>"She took me to a freaking bug restaurant."<p>

Chelsea face scrunches up in confusion, "A bug restaurant?"

"Yes, a restaurant where they serve bugs," Spencer clarifies.

Suddenly, Chelsea explodes into laughter. "That is fucking hilarious! Wait, where is this place? We _have_ to go there sometime!" Her arms are draped over the steering wheel while the rest of her body shakes with glee. Behind them, a chorus of car horns begins to sing.

"Chelsea," Spencer warns.

Chelsea ignores the passenger tugging agitatedly on her shirt. "Only you, Spencer! Only you could get into such a hysterical situation." Her maniacal laughter continues for another moment before shifting into a tone of wistful fantasy. "Why can't I be you? I want to be you."

"Chelsea!"

"What?" Chelsea demands, upset at having her daydream interrupted.

"If you haven't noticed, the people in the cars behind us are about to murder us," Spencer informs her coolly.

As she pulls past the traffic light, Chelsea scoffs, "Don't be so dramatic. They only mean to maim us."

It's Spencer's turn to repeat phrases in disbelief. "They only mean to maim us? Who in the world uses 'mean to' like that anymore?"

"You do," Chelsea cackles. "Last week."

"What did I say and how do you remember?"

"I don't remember what you said. I just remember wanting to say, 'who uses "mean to" like that anymore'?"

If Spencer were a whale, Chelsea would be smacked by a blubbery tail. The two friends fall into silence again gearing up for the next bout of verbal combat.

"I really don't know what to make of it," Spencer admits. "Ashley was nice, but I'm not sure if I can seriously date someone who thinks that eating bugs is a romantic first date."

"Then, don't seriously date her," Chelsea advises. "She needs a date for prom, you need a life," Spencer glares at her, "and she doesn't look that bad. In the meantime, you can just have some fun and plot your revenge."

"My revenge?"

"For taking you out to a bug restaurant, which, by the way, we totally have to visit." Chelsea's practically bouncing in her seat at the thought.

Resigned Spencer sighs, "Are you ever going to leave me alone if I don't take you to this restaurant?"

"I will never leave you alone, period, but I'll shred your history notes if you don't get revenge."

"Why are you so fixated on revenge?"

One of Chelsea's eyebrows quirks up critically. "Why do you keep trying to avoid the topic?"

"Fine. Revenge," Spencer spits out gruffly. "What should I do?"

* * *

><p>Ashley isn't sure where exactly they're going. They're going there in Spencer's station wagon though.<p>

A _station wagon_.

Really? Anybody else, and Ashley would assume that they borrowed the family car. Spencer, though, Spencer probably walked into the dealership and started lecturing about cargo space and gas mileage. Now she's got Ashley trapped here on her way to some "surprise" that will probably end with Ashley being murdered in an alleyway. And eaten by worms.

Spencer's serene voice punctures Ashley's inflating inner soliloquy. "Were you born in LA?"

"Yep." Blue eyes slide to the right, inspecting Ashley's taut form in the corner of her seat. Why does Spencer want to talk all of a sudden? Why now, when the only words Ashley's tongue can wrap itself around are "station wagon" and "why"?

As Spencer's eyes return to the road, her chin gives a little jerk like a bird bobbing its head, half playful and half irritated. It's a weird movement—a little creepy—but Ashley's riveted. "You've got such a fascinating family history," Spencer drawls.

Ashley knows how to take a hint. "Well, you know, I _assume_ I was born in LA. I mean its not like I can remember, and I've never had to look at my birth certificate."

"How can you not know where you were born?" Spencer's tone suggests that she doesn't quite believe the girl sitting next to her. It also implies that Ashley might be an idiot, but Ashley ignores that.

"How am I _supposed_ to know where I was born?" Seriously. Ashley just knows she's from LA. She's always been from LA. She's never cared whether she was born in LA itself or on some cruise to the Bahamas (which is highly likely). So why should Spencer care so much? And where the heck are they going in this station wagon anyways? Ashley is about to voice this last question when she realizes that they're stopped at a red light, and Spencer is looking at her as though she expects some kind of response. "What?"

"I _said_," Spencer omits the word "moron" but Ashley can hear it there anyways, "why don't you just ask your mother."

"Why would I ask my mother that?" Her date's face tells Ashley that this is exactly the kind of thing that she should be chatting about with her mother over strudels. "That's not something we'd talk—I mean we don't…"

Ashley knows how to shut up too.

Spencer does not. "Well, what else are you going to talk about?" Ashley is still shut up. Irritated, Spencer huffs, flicks her blond hair over to the side, and taps her fingers on the steering wheel. She does an excellent job of making sure Ashley realizes that she's being ignored. For some reason, Ashley feels guilty—and she shouldn't, it's not her fault Spencer decided to suddenly become a chatterbox. Despite that, she finds herself opening her mouth, anything to fill the devastating silence.

"So, a station wagon, huh?" It's all she can think of. "You didn't choose to drive this, did you?"

"Stop starting sentences with 'so'," Spencer snaps, all ice, sharp and crystalline. Deadly. But Ashley is, after all, a daredevil. She forges on.

"Who drives a station wagon?"

"A large portion of the general public." Spencer's words are taut like a tightrope.

Ashley strides over them like a freaking high-wire walker, excruciatingly aware of all the open space between herself and the ground. She kind of loves it. "Not a large portion of American teenagers. Not by choice anyways. What's the big deal?" Something's eating at Spencer's always in-control state, and Ashley would give an arm and a leg to figure out what. Maybe just an arm.

"My brother bought it. The last time he was home." Spencer does not look happy to be imparting this information.

"You have a brother?" Ashley asks, innocently. On second thought, she probably should have asked about the weather. She does just that twenty minutes later when Spencer still hasn't opened her mouth.

* * *

><p><strong>So here's a poll: Shorter chapters and possibly more frequent updates or longer chapters and less frequent updates?<strong>

**All this fancy, new setup on the site and yet the Doc Manager still sets a random block of writing in bold when I paste my text. Some things never change.**


	6. Cucumbers and Flowers

**Look who's alive. Probably not this fandom if all the writers are like me. Let me be honest: I have no idea if my stories are ever going to be finished. I have no idea whether anyone will bother reading this, but you know what? Writing ridiculous Spashley dialogue at 11 PM is kind of fun. So you guys get this.**

**It's been less than a year since I last updated this, but it's pretty darn close so recap:**

**Ashley takes Spencer out to a bug restaurant.**

**Spencer and Chelsea plot revenge.**

**Ashley is in Spencer's car, unaware that revenge is being plotted, being nosy about Spencer's family. **

**Which brings us to chapter 6.**

**You might as well re-read the story.**

6. Cucumbers and Flowers 

Spencer is nervous. Well, first of all, she's irritated because is Ashley sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Everyone knows that Spencer doesn't talk about her brothers. _Everyone_. Except for Ashley apparently, who also seems unaware that her annoying, scrunchy nose is moments away from being shoved into a window. But underneath all that desire to pummel Ashley into the pavement, Spencer is nervous.

To make it clear, Spencer is a great planner, not a great schemer. When everyone wanted to play a prank on Mr. Sonner in 3rd grade, Spencer was the kid who chickened out and told. She hated Mr. Sonner, but the suspense smashing her chest in with a sledgehammer. Last year, after spending weeks organizing a surprise birthday party for Chelsea, she pretended to be sick when the time came for the actual "surprise" part of the birthday party. Now, sitting in the car with Ashley, knowing that this plot is really about to happen, Spencer feels like she might vomit her intestines. Her knuckles are straining so hard against her skin thy might pop through. Oh God, she can't follow through on this. She swerves right.

"Um, why are we at a grocery store?"

"Just go with it," Spencer snaps. Right. What can Spencer do at a grocery store that would count as a date?

"Seriously, Spencer. Why are we parked outside of Stop 'n Shop?"

"Because!"

Silence. Ashley looks at Spencer expectantly, peering out from under her bangs.

"Because…" she prods.

"Because… I want to buy blueberries," Spencer grinds out. "Just go with it."

"But why?"

"Will you just shut up?!" And now Spencer feels bad—really, astoundingly bad, because she knows better than to get this wound up, and she knows her behavior on this car trip has been ridiculously sketchy, and above all she _knows_ how much of a jerk she can be.

Banging her forehead head against a raised palm, she reaches for an apology, some meaningless phrase that can at least spray a film of politeness over her absolutely brutish behavior, but it's Ashley that speaks up first.

"I'm sorry."

"What?" Spencer's head jerks up in shock.

"I'm sorry I brought you to that stupid bug restaurant and then told you I didn't really want to date you and made fun of your car and got nosy. I just—I don't know." Ashley doesn't look at her. She looks out the window sternly. "I guess…"

Ashley trails off. What Spencer wants, more than anything, is to reach out, to say sorry, to touch and be touched, but Ashley looks so impossibly distant that Spencer is afraid to move. Maybe some old Spencer could have done it. The middle-school Spencer from Ohio or the little kid Spencer who liked meeting strangers so much she was always sneaking off from her family at the county fair. But the new Spencer doesn't do that. The new Spencer is sardonic and smart and has forgotten how to be otherwise. She's funny—in a pointy-edged way—and kind—but pointedly nonchalant about it—(quite frankly she just has a lot of pointiness going on these days), but she stopped being warm a long time ago. The new doesn't say anything.

"So. Blueberries. Let's go get some," Ashley mutters as she climbs out of the car.

Spencer doesn't move for a moment until she realizes she's sitting alone in the car like a moron. Scrambling after the retreating figure of her date, she calls out desperately, "What's your, uh, favorite cereal?"

Spencer is _trying_ to redeem herself, to own up to her flaws and to respect Ashley's unexpected courage instead of mocking it, but the best she can pretend to do is pretend nothing happened.

"Apple Jacks," Ashley replies quietly.

"Apple Jacks?" The sheer ridiculousness of this answer makes Spencer forget to be apologetic and guilty. "Apple Jacks? _Your_ favorite cereal is Apple Jacks?" A small boy turns at the sound of Spencer's increasingly neurotic tone of voice.

Ashley is taken aback. "Yeah, I mean—"

"What is—Apples Jacks? Are you joking?" Spencer can see Ashley liking Reese's or Cocoa Puffs, but Apple Jacks? If Ashley had declared her undying love for Raisin Bran, Spencer couldn't have been more shocked.

"What's wrong with Apple Jacks?"

"They're—they're disgusting. Not to mention their commercials are awful. The cinnamon stick looks like a fifty year old who spent way too much time in a tanning solon trying to be hip and the apple is just a creep." The boy is outright gaping at Spencer now, and Ashley notices out him of the corner of her eye. There's something lovely about watching Spencer blindly embarrass herself. Ashley can't help but egg her on.

"I love the cinnamon stick!" she cries as though heartbroken. "How can you not love the cinnamon stick?"

"Have you heard him talk?"

"Now you're just being racist." Okay. Now the boy is definitely staring. And his mother is looking at them too. Is that his grandfather on the other side of the sweet potatoes? Maybe this isn't such a good idea. Who is Ashley kidding? Winding up Spencer is the most fun Ashley's had since last week. Except for the part where she was kissing Spencer in the art room. Though maybe that doesn't count as fun so much as—

"What? How am I being racist? His voice annoys the grey matter out of my brain. It's like trying to be around you."

"Clearly he's—" Ashley stops in the middle of making a supremely cosmopolitan argument about cultural sensitivity and the importance of respecting other people's accents when her brain starts to process Spencer's sentence. "Wait. What?"

"Grey matter, white matter, brain matter."

"Whatever." The moment for proclamations of cultural sensitivity is lost. Spencer is too distracted anyways, struggling to pull a reluctant shopping cart out of the line, "Why are you getting a cart? I thought we were only getting blueberries."

Spencer looks surprised. "I can't go into a grocery store without a cart," she insists. "Besides, maybe we'll decide to get something else."

It takes Ashley all of fifteen seconds to decide what else they need to get.

"Spencer."

"Mm-hm." The blond doesn't even look up from her examination of a box of blueberries.

"We need," Ashley starts with lethal solemnity, "a watermelon." She's pretty sure Spencer's ignoring her just to irritate her.

"What are we going to do with a watermelon?" Spencer asks archly as she finally settles on a pre-washed plastic container of berries.

"Well, unless you wanted to chuck it at something, I was thinking that we could eat it."

"I don't exactly carry kitchen knives in my car, Ashley," Spencer deadpans, then winces and shakes her head as though to clear it. The action makes Ashley frown, but she ignores it. Her crusade for watermelon takes temporary precedence over Spencer-solving.

"We could buy one."

"Why would I buy a kitchen knife?"

"Because we need one for the watermelon." It seems quite logical to Ashley.

"Ashley…" There's a whine in Spencer's voice that Ashley's never heard before—petulantly disarming— but Ashley can whinge with the best of them. She leans against their grocery cart and tilts her head to one side.

"Aw, come on, Spencer. How about this? You find spoons for us somehow and I'll figure out how to open it. Please?"

Spencer just stares at her for several seconds, then caves. "Fine," she huffs turning away.

Before she realizes what she's doing, Ashley finds her arms wrapped around Spencer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Thanks—"Spencer stiffens, and Ashley realizes that this is Spencer, I-barely-belong-in-this-mortal-realm-_Spencer_, not some random girl she can charm with an extra dose of sweetness and definitely not the kind of person who likes surprise hugs. "Um. Yeah." She's is backing off so fast it feels like vertigo, except the cart is in the way. Now she's falling backwards, and Ashley knows from experience how much it hurts when one's skull bounces off of tiles.

"Ow."

Ashley is actually pretty proud of her use of understatement in that instant. Or at least she will be later on that night, when she'll replay the evening's events over and over, trying to wriggle her way back into all the best moments. At present, doesn't have the mental capacity for pride. Her skull is vibrating like a newborn robin in the Antarctic, which makes all sorts of neural processing difficult. _Whatever you do not open your eyes._

"Ashley!" Later on, Ashley will especially relish the undisguised concern in Spencer's voice as she blathers on about concussions and long-term damage. She'll cradle the memory of it close. For now though, the noise is just too much. She opens her eyes. Nope. Closing them again. She knows she has to say something to reassure Spencer she's all right, if only so the girl will stop _talking_.

"Find… spoons. We need watermelon, …Cucumber."

Ashley sucks at reassurance.

* * *

><p>By the time they approach the checkout counter, Spencer is quite smug about her decision to get a cart. They now have a load of food on four wheels that she doesn't know how or where they'll eat, but just having it there, pushing it towards the counter with Ashley is extremely gratifying. And Ashley. Spencer suppresses a shiver as she remembers Ashley with her elbow resting on the metal edge of the shopping cart, head tossed back and neck exposed—and maybe Spencer's imagination is running away with itself and her brain—but God, when Ashley leans, she <em>invites<em>. Ashley could freaking charge money for people to watch her lean against a wall. Spencer would pay. She'd cover her head with a paper bag first, but she would most definitely pay.

"Hey, did you get the spoons yet?"

Spencer flushes, realizing that this is probably not the first time Ashley's posed that question in the last thirty seconds. She wishes she could fall over and hit her head too.

"Right. Those. I will get…those," she splutters, escaping to the small café on the side of the store. When she returns to find Ashley waiting in line, she has two plastic spoons wrapped in a napkin stuffed in her back pocket. Ashley doesn't see her right away, and Spencer is tempted to sneak up from behind, throw her arms around narrow shoulders and bury her face in that curly hair. It had been a shock when Ashley did it, but what was more surprising was how much Spencer wanted to lean back into the embrace, to let herself go limp, to crane her neck until her lips— But just the thought of being so blithe in a grocery store, admitting the fact that she isn't always cool, controlled Spencer, is enough to stop her in her tracks.

Coward. There. She said it. Because, really, what are all of Spencer's wry jabs and dry humor but decoys and defense mechanisms? Come on. Didn't she decide to go on this date? Sure she was actually supposed to… well, she was supposed to be reveling her arthropodic revenge, but apparently she decided that grocery shopping would be more fun. If Ashley came to the conclusion that dating Spencer was a drag, who could blame her? Who didn't want to see their partner let down their guard a little? Squeal with delight and hop with excitement? Why couldn't Spencer just do something romantic and sweet? When had Spencer forgotten how to be sweet?

"Hey, Ashley?"

"Oh, there you are." Ashley's grin is a punch sternum. Exhilarating. "Yeah?"

"Do you want to get the car? This line sort of looks like it might take a while."

Brow furrowing, Ashley shrugs. "I guess. Okay."

Spencer hands Ashley her keys and watches as she walks out the automatic doors. The minute they slide closed, Spencer yanks the shopping cart out of the checkout line. An old woman with a cart piled to the brim with various foodstuffs nearly has a heart attack. "Sorry!" Spencer shouts to no one in particular.

* * *

><p>Ashley can't help being bored. She'd much rather be in line, pretending to be outraged at Spencer's almost insults. As a child she had long since discovered that no matter how terrible it was to tag along as one's mother visited boutique store after boutique store after hairdresser, it was infinitely worse to be stuck in the car. <em>Where <em>is_ Spencer?_ The line wasn't _that_ long.

Finally, the girl she's been waiting for comes barreling out of the grocery store, all their food strangely piled up in the middle of the cart. She opens the trunk.

"Hey. What took—"

"Open the trunk," Spencer demands, looking positively feverish.

"Uh. It's open already." Ashley is concerned. Spencer is even jumpier now than she was back in the car when Ashley being a tactless idiot.

"Oh. That's true." Crestfallen, Spencer just stands there dazedly. Ashley moves to touch her shoulder when Spencer's arm swings up wildly. "Hey, look!" Suddenly she's pointing to an area somewhere behind Ashley's shoulder. "It's—it's…a dog!"

Instinctively, Ashley half-turns, but Spencer's behavior is so bizarre that she's worried if she takes her eyes off of the violently gesturing girl, Spencer might faint.

"Will you just turn around for two seconds?" The hint of exasperation in Spencer's voice is re-assuring, like a slap on the back from a childhood friend.

"Okay." Ashley studies Spencer for another moment before turning around.

"Thank you," she mutters. From behind her, bags rustle frantically, and Spencer mutters something unintelligible. Ashley wonders if she picked up that kitchen knife after all and is planning on hiding Ashley's corpse in the trunk. That would explain quite a bit actually.

"Turn around." Spencer's voice has softened, but it's still shot through with nerves. Concerned, Ashley turns around, right into a face full of rich red roses.

Whoa.

Before Ashley can say anything, Spencer, hidden behind the bouquet starts babbling. "I thought—I just. Do you even like flowers?"

And there's Spencer's hand holding on to the roses, which—surprise!—is connected to her arm, which in turn is connected to the rest of Spencer. And Spencer's eyes are trying hard not to look at Ashley's face, and her cheeks are almost as red as the darn roses, and yes, Ashley decides: she likes flowers. Just not as much as she likes cucumbers.

* * *

><p><strong>Let me know if you really care about whether this story is finished. I have other fandoms I'm curious about getting into... if I ever have free time and motivation again in my life. But I will attempt to move this one along before I try anything else.<strong>

**If there's anyone out there who still likes Runt of the Litter, I don't know what's going to happen to that one. I'm almost tempted to overhaul the entire thing. I need to re-think the characters, and the plot, and basically the everything. Runt of the Litter was always less about romance for me, and more about Ashley coming-of-age. So it's less straightforward than: let's plunk Spashley into a bunch of awkward situations and laugh at them. Sometimes I feel that it's gets a little too precious. I'll see if I can muster up the courage to start working on it again.**


	7. Atmosphere

**Let me be honest here. This is not going to happen again in a while. Hopefully it won't take a near year for it to happen, but it's unlikely to be within the next few weeks. March sucks. Hopefully this tides you over.**

**Also, I've decided not to update _Runt of the Litter_ until I've finished the entire story. I do have the next chapter done, but I think I need to see the piece as a whole before I post anything else.**

**Finally, note that I have been banging out the last two chapters with little to no regard to proofreading. I decided it was better to at least get them out. Otherwise I'd probably still be mulling this one over.**

* * *

><p><span>7. Atmosphere<span>

The atmosphere in the car is different when they get back in. For one thing, Ashley wants to put the roses down, but she can't quite figure out how to do that in the passenger seat of the station wagon. If she puts them on the floor in front of her seat, they might get trampled. If she throws them in the backseat, that would be rude. If she puts them on the dashboard, they'll block Spencer's view. So instead she just sits there holding the bouquet in her hands, crinkling the plastic wrapping on the outside.

The atmosphere in the car is different now that Spencer has gone and done something embarrassing and cheesy. It's like Spencer has given Ashley permission to do embarrassing and cheesy things in return. Spencer has more or less declared that Ashley is allowed to touch, to give her hugs from behind and press kisses to her temple. Ashley is allowed to be affectionate, not just funny or witty or charming, but _affectionate._ At least for tonight, Ashley is allowed to be _attracted _to Spencer, in more than the you're-so-pretty-way. And suddenly Ashley really wants to run her hands all over the outside of Spencer's jeans, and if she lets her mind run that far, she really wants to feel what Spencer's like underneath those jeans too. But she can't do _any_ of these wonderful new things she's allowed to do because she has to hold the goddamned lovely roses that Spencer got her.

Ashley _despises_ situational irony. And English. Because maybe there wouldn't have been situational irony without English.

The atmosphere in the car is different, and Ashley wants to bang her head on the window in frustration. She tries to jam the roses between her seat and the passenger door so that they don't fall over and get squashed, but success is limited. At the rustling of plastic and the scratch of fabric on fabric, Spencer glances over and then yanks her line of sight back on the road, blushing at the sight of the roses.

"You can just put them down anywhere."

It's Spencer's voice that makes Ashley's head explode, hesitating, hopeful, and so deliciously embarrassed. Ashley can love roses another time.

* * *

><p>"So," Ashley drawls from Spencer's right, "have I mentioned how much I liked roses?"<p>

Spencer's hands tighten on the steering wheel. Her fingers are going to hurt from all this clenching tomorrow. The roses are driving her insane, and she can't help but squirm inside whenever Ashley brings them up. All she can do is her imagine herself holding out the bouquet like a sappy, moon-eyed idiot, who can't even come up with an original gift. It makes Spencer's cheeks burn. So of course Ashley keeps bringing it up.

"I think you said something to that effect." It's a surprisingly coherent sentence, even incorporating a touch of her usual disdain for silly questions. She opens her mouth to make the jab stick and chokes on air when she feels Ashley's fingers brush against her neck, sweeping back a stray lock of hair.

"Well, I do like roses," Ashley rasps, her words scraping along Spencer's skin. "They're very…red."

Normally, Spencer would pounce on the obtuseness of such a remark and tear the observer to pieces with her tongue. At the moment, she worries about breathing. _Do not look to your right._ Her muscles coil over each other, stiffening and quivering. _Drive. Just freaking drive._ Spencer hates driving.

"Make a left at the next traffic light."

Spencer wants to cover herself in Ashley's voice. She wants to curl up tight and hide in it. It's freaking irritating as hell. Spencer is not going to be seduced like some… some…

It's hard to come up with good similes when Ashley's finger is trailing down the right side of her neck and onto her shoulder.

The atmosphere in the car is very, very… tense when they pull into Ashley's driveway.

* * *

><p>With a shaky breath, Ashley rinses the blueberries out at the sink and runs her fingers through them. Jesus, what did she just do? What was she thinking in the car? When did she turn into a freaking film noir femme fatale? If they hadn't been driving, hadn't had the console between them and the annoyingly transparent windshield in front…<p>

Shuddering, Ashley dumps the blueberries into a strainer.

A thump, bang and stifled curse later, Spencer bursts through the kitchen door with the remainder of their groceries clutched in her arms. "Jesus Christ!"

"Need a hand?"

"It _would_ be helpful," Spencer mutters. Her irritation is gentle though, more soothing than accusatory, and Ashley lets some of the food tumble into her arms before setting them on the counter.

After a moment of pulling items out of shopping bags, Ashley realizes something. "Hey Spencer? Where are my Apple Jacks?"

The answering smirk makes Ashley's heart stop. Spencer saunters—freaking saunters—up to Ashley. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Ashley closes her eyes and struggles to wrap her mind around Spencer being so… suggestive. She can feel Spencer's voice between her legs.

"I-I think I would." Words. Use them. Try not to collapse. It's hard when Spencer's hips are nudging her own against the wood of the kitchen cabinets.

"I don't think you've earned them," Spencer breathes, her hips thrust against Ashley's and the feel of the pelvic bone makes Ashley sag. When did Spencer get so fucking tall? When did Ashley start whimpering?

Ashley leans back, bracing her hands against the counter. Each breath lurches from her lungs like a drunken sailor. Totally intoxicated, she throws her head back. Why is she leaning backwards? Why isn't she pushing forward, pressing against her body up to Spencer's? She wants _more_. She surges towards Spencer only to be wrenched back. Her hands are trapped against the counter beneath Spencer's. The smug grin playing across Spencer's face makes her heady. If she weren't so ridiculously turned on, she'd be furious. As the case stands, she's just… wet.

When Spencer's teeth arrive under her jaw, Ashley finds herself caught between a growl and a mewl.

"Spencer…"

And then Spencer's tongue is there, sleek muscle running along her neck, and Ashley's lower body gyrates, trying to angle itself against the flare of her partner's hips. Spencer deliberately flattens herself against Ashley until there just isn't room for the pinned girl to move. Her mouth travels up to Ashley's ear, breathless but thick.

"How badly do you want it?"

Somehow, Spencer's become the temptress, the seductress, the freaking femme fatale, and Ashley is just squirming beneath her, burning and blind with desire. "God. Spencer. Please."

Spencer laughs, she just laughs, and Ashley decides that this entire situation is outrageous. She half-twists, half-shoves Spencer back with her hips. While her date yelps and stumbles, Ashley yanks her hands free and steps forward until Spencer is falling backwards, fingers clutching Ashley's shirt. It's all the victor can do to keep Spencer from knocking her head against the chilly tiles. Her hands are up Spencer's blouse, fingers probing at the edge of her bra, before she can think about what she's doing on the kitchen floor. Spencer's back arches and Ashley vengefully pushes her flat against the floor again, swallowing the dazed gasps and suppressed moans. Ashley wants to drag the noises out of Spencer, peel back the layers of cool reserve and find the warm and willing stranger underneath. Finally pushing the underwire of her bra out of the way, Ashley's fingers latch firmly onto hard nipples, just squeezing slightly and letting Spencer wriggle in her grasp.

All along the edges of her forearm, she can feel Spencer's bare torso, and it is absolutely exhilarating. Spencer's shirt bunches up further as Ashley shifts so that she's kneeling on top. Can Spencer feel the cold tiles at her back?

Spencer's control over her voice breaks as she keens into Ashley's mouth, shivering. It's Ashley's turn to straighten and chuckle.

Desperate hands scrabble first against her sides, then over the plane of Ashley's back trying to get a grip on something. They finally fasten themselves in Ashley's hair, hauling her back against demanding lips. Spencer strains upwards, shoulders leaving the floor as she tries to cover more of Ashley with her mouth. Ashley doesn't know how much control she still this interaction, and she doesn't care so long as—

"Oh my—Ashley! Use your freaking room!"

Ashley practically leaps into the air at Kyla's shrill outburst. She can't remember the last time she saw her twin so discombobulated, her neat face gaping in horror. It would've been hilarious if Ashley weren't recovering from a small heart attack.

"What? Kyla, you scared—"

"You know what? I'm just going to go up to my own private and thankfully opaque _bedroom_ and hope the two of you are done by morning." Kyla sweeps out of there as regally as she can, mumbling to herself all the while.

"Geez," Ashley sighs, resting her forehead against cool tiles. "It's not like we were naked." She looks over at the girl still sprawled half-underneath her. "Hey! Don't worry," she says hastily. Spencer looks like a bunny rabbit in a tractor beam. Ashley presses a comforting kiss to her forehead. "It was just Kyla." Another kiss, on the lips, with Ashley's arms fully wrapped around the girl. "Don't worry," she soothes between kisses.

For a while they just lie there, kissing until they both come down from the adrenaline. Afterwards, Ashley almost makes a snarky comment about her Apple Jacks. Almost. Instead of hurling herself down the first suitable cliff, she decides (just this once) to enjoy the atmosphere at the mountaintop . And so she's quiet once the kissing stops, and she lies with Spencer on her kitchen floor.


End file.
